The Duke and the Pirate Queen

Imena frowned. “That’s not required by law.”

The officer’s back stiffened. “I wasn’t aware you particularly cared for laws, Captain Leung.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She felt Chetri ease closer to her.

“Everyone knows why His Grace hired you. You’re a pirate.”

Chetri’s blade whistled from its sheath, and he spat the mastic gum at the man’s feet. Imena blocked his arm without breaking the officer’s gaze. She heard movement, then settling, as the sailors realized there would be no fighting. “I was a privateer, in the service of my government.”

“It’s all the same to us. We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Have you.” She pushed on Chetri’s arm until it lowered and he stepped back to sheathe his blade. “Unless you are accusing me of piracy now, you will leave my ship.”

CHAPTER SIX

MAXIME HAD NEVER FEARED ENCLOSED SPACES, but as time passed, he felt more and more confined in his narrow cubby. The bottom wasn’t padded, and though he didn’t feel any splinters, it wasn’t comfortable, either. The trapdoor pressed entirely too close to the end of his nose, now numbed to the smell of balsam; his breath returned to him, forcing him to tell himself that he was not suffocating. It only felt as if there was no air. He could feel air: warmish, stale air, flowing across the soles of his feet. He could also feel the trapdoor against his chest if he took too deep a breath. Perhaps he was lucky he wore only trousers; if he’d been wearing his usual layers of clothing, this cubby would be considerably more stifling.

He opened his eyes. That was a little better. There was no light in the cubby, but it made him feel better anyway.

He’d heard quite a lot of noise from above: pounding feet in large numbers, a wooden thumping as of something heavy rocking into Seaflower’s hull, more feet. Then silence, until he heard more steps, closer, and the welcome sounds of someone wrenching open the trapdoor above his head.

As soon as the door was opened, he said, “I’ve had about enough of this game.”

Chetri stared down at him without answering, brown face studiously blank, light playing on his necklaces and array of silver earrings, many more than any courtier would wear. Despite all his adornments, he clearly had no fear of anyone’s branding him a dandy. He extended a hand, layered in calluses, to pull Maxime up.

Maxime was impressed there seemed to be no effort involved, despite the fact that he was considerably larger than Imena’s first mate. He eyed Chetri’s muscular chest, decorated across the pectorals with dense black tattooing. He wondered how much Imena liked looking at such a fine specimen of a man, day in and day out. “How far out to sea have we gone?”

Chetri looked him up and down slowly, without answering. “Come along,” he said. When Maxime didn’t follow, he grabbed his hand and tugged him.

Maxime soon discerned they were returning to his belowdecks cell. He said, “I shouldn’t be away for this long. Much as I’d prefer to stay, I’m expecting a royal envoy any day now.”

“I’ll fetch you out later on,” Chetri said, gently pushing him into his cell with a hand on his back.

Maxime grasped Chetri’s shoulder to stop him from closing the door. Imena would be displeased if Maxime seduced him. At the moment, he was in the mood to cause her displeasure. “You don’t need to lock me in here.”

“I suspect I do have to lock you in here,” Chetri said with a wry twist to his mouth.

Maxime tightened his hand on Chetri’s shoulder, squeezing gently and sensually. “Perhaps we could both be locked in here.”

Chetri turned his head and nipped at Maxime’s fingers. “I don’t trust myself, and I don’t trust you further than I could throw you, Your Grace.”

“You wouldn’t be sorry. I suspect you have no aversion to men. Wise of you.”

Chetri grinned. “And I’m sure you’d make it worth my while, is that it?” Gently, he dislodged Maxime’s hand and stepped back. “You’ll be a handful for the captain, that you will.” Easily fending off Maxime’s lunge, he slammed the door closed, calling through it, “I’ll bring you something to read later. A nice philosophical volume.” A moment later, Maxime heard the noise of the lock and chain.

It hadn’t been polite to try to seduce her second-in-command when he was hoping to convince her that she ought to marry him, but did she really expect him to play the innocent virgin and wait patiently for her attentions? Otherwise, why make him wait so long?

Unless she knew what he’d done with Sylvie. Maxime sighed. That had been a mistake, too. It wouldn’t do him any good to explain that it had been nothing to Sylvie, and that he’d been thinking of Imena throughout most of it. Despite knowing Sylvie, and what Sylvie was like, Imena wouldn’t be pleased with him for giving in, not at all.

Yes, that could be the reason for his current imprisonment. Imena knew about his brief encounter with Sylvie, and she planned to make him pay. But couldn’t she have chosen a more … pleasant revenge?

He refused to consider that Imena might not care at all.

Maxime grimaced, sat on the blanket and tore off a hunk of bread.

This bit of ocean was far too crowded for Imena’s liking. It made sense that every courier cutter and fishing trawler would be taking advantage of the wind, but that also meant every one of them would spot Seaflower with her distinctive imperial rigging and duchy profile. While Chetri sent the crew through a series of complex maneuvers designed to get them out of the most trafficked sea lanes, Imena sat in her cabin and labored over her charts, deliberately putting off talking to Maxime. He would be furious that she’d swept him away out of danger without telling him. She didn’t want to face that right now. She didn’t want to face him, after what they’d done in the baths, and what she’d briefly felt there.

Here, she could work in peace for a while. She had the largest cabin on Seaflower, furnished with a spacious wooden bunk projecting from one wall, two trunks to serve as seats, and her worktable and chair. One bulkhead was lined with a row of glassed-in windows, the others decorated with painted screens of historical battles. Several books and a new length of hempen rope, which Norris would use for drying clothes, were piled in a basket near the door, waiting to be stowed, distracting her from the charts spread in front of her.

The problem was, she had no idea how long Maxime would be in danger. He was safe belowdecks, but he would be wild with curiosity about the situation right now, and angry. Rightly so. Angry with her.

Sylvie would pass on the vital information about the plot to Lady Gisele, and hopefully Gisele would be able to stall any royal envoys who traveled to the castle, but Maxime himself was still in the dark.

Doubtless he’d figured out something had happened. He was no fool, and would know she only had his best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be angry for long. He could wait.

Imena returned her thoughts to navigation. Remaining on the open sea seemed the safest option, but just to be safe, she reminded herself of available ports, official or otherwise, on the heading she planned. She scribbled down her preferred course, then two options, with some side notes to Chetri, then fastened the paper firmly onto the corner of a table. Carefully, she rolled and stowed her charts in their waterproof casings. She couldn’t put off talking to Maxime for much longer. She would go and speak to him immediately after she’d been up to pass on her orders.

Chetri said, “We’re not fully provisioned. We got the extra spars loaded last night, but we’re lacking some of the supplies I’d like to have, if we’re to stay out for as long as you fear.”

“You think I’m being too cautious?” she asked.

He considered, stroking his fingers over the hilt of his dagger. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t trust royalty, especially not when money’s involved. And that’s what it’s really about—His Highness wants control of His Grace because then he’ll have control of a duchy stuffed with coin.”

“If it is King Julien.”

“If not him, then his flunky,” he said. “They’re all corrupt—well, aside from His Grace. He’s fair and honest in his dealings. Will we be getting word from that Sylvie girl? Will she really be able to uncover this plot? She puked the whole time she was aboard that one time.”

“Her Grace the Duchess Camille relies upon Sylvie,” Imena reminded him. “She’s an experienced courier and spy. She’ll know to send us news through the usual channels. We’ll just have to be careful where we dock.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chetri said. “By the way—you might want to speak to His Grace soon. He’s … anxious … to be released from durance vile.”

Chetri’s sly grin arrested her attention. “Anxious?”

“He offered me delights of the flesh if I’d set him free.”

“He did what? “ She paused. “Was he joking?”

“Possibly. Possibly not.” Chetri licked his lips. “He is a fine figure of a man, your duke. Plenty to hold on to, a bitable arse, and I hear reports he’s skilled as any whore with that cock of his and otherwise. Making the tide with him would be no hardship, no, not at all. I almost took him up on it.”

Through a red haze, Imena said, “You will not bite his arse nor hold on to any part of him.”

Chetri laughed. “Of course not. I know he’s yours.”

“He is not—”

He patted her shoulder. “Of course not, Captain, sir. That’s why you scooped him up, naked as the day he was born, and tossed him into your hold.”

“I was in a hurry.” She was aware she sounded surly, but could not help herself. Sometimes, Chetri considered himself entirely too much like her father. Only worse.

Chetri continued, “You had time to let him put his trousers on before you rolled him up in a carpet. Nice cock like that, you ought to wrap it up safe.” He lifted his eyebrow, the silver ring through it glinting in the sun.

“Enough.” She thrust the orders into his hand. “Get us out of here. Every scrap of canvas we have. Spring a topmast if you have to. I’m going below.”

Imena had intended to invite Maxime up to her cabin, now that the chance of discovery was so much less, but that was before he’d tried to seduce Chetri. As she unlocked the door to his refuge, she considered simply leaving him in the hold. The accommodations might not be to his liking. She was no longer in a mood to please him. However, if she left him down here, who knew how many more of her crew he would try to subvert? Or seduce? Or both? Who would be next? No doubt Maxime would like a challenge. Seretse? Leggy Roxanne, the second mate?

It was a pity they needed to shift the cargo, poorly stowed thanks to their precipitous departure. Maxime would be in the way belowdecks. The needs of her ship were more important than a small act of revenge.

She shouldn’t have expected better of him, anyway. She knew what he was like. She knew far too much about what he liked.

But he’d made a fool of her on her own ship. It would serve him right if she treated him as a prisoner for a little while. Did she dare? She thought she might be angry enough to dare. And perhaps jealous enough, even though she had no right to be jealous.

She swung the door open a bit too hard, and it slammed against the temporary bulkhead. Maxime sat cross-legged on the deck, eating an orange. The tart scent perfumed the cabin. His lips and fingers were shiny with the sticky juice, forcibly reminding her of how he’d looked, smiling at her with her juices on his mouth.

“Keep your hands off my crew,” she said.

“Even if they ask nicely?” He rose slowly, effortlessly, and held out a crescent of fruit. “Orange?”

“Chetri didn’t ask.”

“He was certainly looking. I know that’s mostly frowned upon in the empire, but surely you—”

“I should leave you locked in here.”

“That won’t be much fun,” Maxime said, and popped the slice of orange into his mouth. Hypnotized, she watched him chew and swallow.

She said, “I would leave you down here, but we need to shift the cargo. We stowed it hastily, and—Never mind. Get your things. I’ll put you in my cabin.”

Maxime smiled and bowed. “Thank you. I’m at your command.” Nearly naked and smeared all over with sweaty streaks of grime from the smuggling cubby, he nevertheless made her want to straighten her spine. Belatedly, she realized he had that in common with her mother, and winced.

“Hurry up, I have things to do.”

As they ascended the stairs, Imena first, Maxime said, “You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble. I was willing to fuck you yesterday. But if you enjoy games—”

Outraged, she exclaimed, “Is that what you think?” She’d left port with her ship barely provisioned and still bristling with barnacles, for his sake, to save him from potential murder, and all he could think about was making the tide. She bit back a longer retort.

“I must admit, the carpet was novel. Being carried off by two muscular young men—I assume they must have been muscular—the solitary confinement to think it over—”

She whirled on him. “I never realized you could be so utterly infuriating.” She would not fight with him now. She would not.

“It’s a talent I spent my entire childhood honing. If I had to live with Camille’s father after he’d killed my parents, I wasn’t about to make it easy for him.” He paused. “So, did I make you jealous? With Chetri? I’d be willing to go further with him, if he’d consent, if that would make you jealous. Or if you’d like it.”

If he didn’t shut his mouth, she was going to have to kill him. Perhaps she’d better shut it for him. “In,” she said, swinging wide her cabin door.

“I’m to be a prisoner in your cabin now, am I?” He grinned and swept through the doorway. “I feel a flutter of virginal apprehension. I’ve always wondered what went on in the cabins of privateers. Though I did fuck in a hammock once. That was terribly awkward, but it came out all right in the end.”

“Sit.” She pointed at one of her two trunks that doubled as seats; they were spread with folded layerings of cloth, to pad the hardware fittings. Maxime did her bidding, but he sat straddle-legged, his cock and bollocks lewdly on display through the cloth of his trousers. Idly, he stroked the length of his cock, which was considerable.

“Stop that,” she said. “I need to speak with you.”

“Oh, I can speak and do this at the same time,” he said, grinning at her. “You’ve really made me wait quite a long time. I’m not sure I can wait much longer. I might have to ask Chetri to ease my pain—”

Imena’s hand closed over the coil of line Norris had left behind. It was fairly soft, chosen so it wouldn’t snag silk clothing. “You were less asinine before I let you bathe me,” she said.

His grin faded. “That was before you locked me up and left me, then sailed me out into the ocean without so much as a please or thank-you. I think that entitles me to be as asinine as I like.”

Imena strode over to him. “Give me your hands,” she said.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. His irritation sounded genuine, and she felt a glimmer of triumph.

She said, “You won’t fight me.”

“Won’t I?”

Imena grabbed his wrists and, in a few swift movements, lashed them together with a series of hurricane knots.

Maxime stared down at his forearms, now wrapped in hempen line. “I didn’t think you truly would do it.”

Imena grinned at him. Suddenly, she felt much better. She sliced through the long end of the line with her belt knife, knelt and snugly hitched his ankles to the trunk’s deck braces, which were loops of iron embedded in the planking. To do so, she drew his legs even farther apart. As she sat up, her mouth nearly brushed his knee, and she saw his thigh muscle twitch.

“Tying my hands was enough to make your displeasure clear,” he pointed out.

“Not for me,” she said. Her eyes were nearly on a level with his genitals; quickly, she shoved herself to her feet before he could get the wrong idea. “I’ll return in a while, and then I will talk and you will listen.”

“Wait!” Maxime said. “We’re not finished. Why are you leaving me again?”

Imena grabbed a piece of candied lemon peel and popped it into his mouth before she escaped. She didn’t trust herself not to truss him head to foot, just for the pleasure of seeing him at her mercy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MAXIME HEARD THE SHIP’S BELL RING TWO QUARTER hours before the cabin’s door opened again. Norris poked her head in, then slid around the door and shut it behind her, reaching for a basket on the deck. When she saw Maxime, she stopped and looked at him incredulously.

“Is this your rope?” Maxime asked mildly.

Her mouth opened, then closed.

“You can have it back if you like. Though I’m afraid you’ll have to untie it yourself.”

Norris clutched the basket to her flat chest. “I. The captain borrowed it? My line?”

“She did.”

“You’ll have to ask her about untying it, then.” Norris grinned and slipped out again, this time with the basket.

Maxime cursed, but without much vigor. He returned to trying to lift his feet. The deck braces to which he was hitched showed no hint of movement and the sturdy decking didn’t even creak, no matter how hard he pulled. The knots on his wrists, he’d quickly learned, drew tighter if he struggled, and there was no accessible end for him to attack with his teeth.

“Being kidnapped,” he said, “is much more dull than I would have expected.” Perhaps things would improve once the ravishing began. If it began. He was beginning to have his doubts.

When another quarter-bell rang, he began to sing, loudly. “Oh, the army had no courage in them! But then came La Rose, the whore! She swore she’d put the courage in them! And give them something mo-o-ore!” He paused, and swallowed, wishing for another orange.

“La Rose, she had a dainty hand! And lips as red as blood! She took the captain first in hand! And soon, upright he stoo-oo-ood!”

The door slammed open. “My ship is not a bawdy house!”

“They’re called licensed brothels in my duchy,” he said. He looked at her hopefully. “All that singing made me thirsty, and I recall there are seventeen more verses. Twenty-three, if you count the extras my aunt taught me. Those are even worse. There’s one where her dog licks—”

Imena stalked over to stand in front of him. Anger had brought a high color to her cheeks, and he was forcibly reminded of how she’d looked as he’d pleasured her in the castle baths. He lifted his hand to touch her before remembering his wrists were bound together. She glared at him, then looked away, visibly collecting herself. She said, “I’ll get you a drink. Did I tie you too tightly?”

She didn’t betray me. Until relief at that realization washed over him, Maxime hadn’t realized he’d been doubting her loyalty. He lifted his bound hands. “You could loosen these. I won’t be much good to you if my hands are numbed.”

She propped her foot on the trunk beside him and placed his hands on her knee, unfortunately palm up, so he couldn’t sneak in a squeeze of her leg. She bent over his wrists, tugging at the knots. The faint rasp of hemp against his skin wasn’t entirely unpleasant. When coupled with the warmth from her hands, it was intriguing. Maxime leaned forward and nuzzled her bare scalp, letting the warmth of his breath caress her skin. A shudder rippled across her before she said, “Stop that.”

“Why?” He bent closer, investigating the soft skin behind her ear. “You smell good,” he said.

“Now is not the time. Occupy your thoughts with something else if you can.” With a final tug at the rope, she straightened and stepped back, out of his reach. She poured water from a stoppered jug and held the wooden cup to his mouth while he drank. After two cups, he refused more, and she said, “I’m busy up top. I promise, I’ll be back later to speak with you.”

“You could untie me, then.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re too unpredictable.” She smiled at him. “I hear tales of how creative you are. Surely you can amuse yourself for a little while.”

Before he could ask her to untie his hands and provide him with pen and paper, she was gone. “Agh!” he growled.

The cabin, he realized, smelled of her. Even pine tar and lemon oil could not conceal from him that she lived in this space, worked and ate and slept here. She would sleep nude on the spacious bunk across from him; the flat, cotton-stuffed mattress would smell of her skin even more strongly. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her trunks were lined with cedar, whose scent impregnated all her clothing; sitting atop one of the trunks was like being close to her.

He opened his eyes. “You are just as pathetic as Sylvie said,” he noted to himself. Smelling her furniture. He was behaving worse than the soggiest hero of a provincial melodrama.

He’d wasted enough time with patience, waiting for her to speak of her interest in him, or at the least demonstrate she had an interest in him beyond her immediate needs. His seduction of her in the baths had gone well, much better than he’d expected, at least until she’d rejected him. That was the first advance he’d made since he met her. He needed to continue in that way, as talking didn’t seem to be doing any good. He could sway her with touch. A little sway, as a way into her thoughts and feelings, was all he needed.

Therefore, he had to touch her again. That would be difficult at the moment, given that she’d knotted his hands together.

His singing had brought her into the cabin. He would draw her into the room again, and then he would talk. Talking had served him well over the years. It was a lucky thing he’d honed the skill, because he needed it now.

He stared at her bunk, unfocused his eyes and meditated on what he would say.

* * *

Norris spotted another royal cutter from the upper nest, necessitating another alteration in Seaflower’s course and subsequent tacking to accommodate both the new heading and the change in wind. Chetri might have handled it all on his own, but Imena was reluctant to enter her cabin again, at least not yet.

She couldn’t leave Maxime tied there indefinitely. Sooner or later, she would have to be close enough to him to untie him so he could put on the rest of his clothes. Then she would have to fight the urge to taste him again, mouth or throat or the muscle atop his shoulder, she didn’t care.

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